


Born for Adversity

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-13
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: So, I had this idea. I was going to write some Wincesty porn, post it, and leave it at that. But then the damn thing got a plot and multiple chapters and whatnot, and now it's threatening to take over my hard drive. So, here you go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Born for Adversity  
Author: [ ](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/)**impertinence**. Me.  
Rating: Well, R for language for this chapter. NC-17 overall.  
Pairing: Sam/Dean evenutally  
Word Count: around 1500 words for this chapter  
Warnings: Not-so-brotherly love between brothers (incest). Poking fun at homophobes and the South, because it's fun.  
Feedback: I am a feedback whore. Concrit, flattery, flames--it's all welcome.  
Notes: So, I had this idea. I was going to write some Wincesty porn, post it, and leave it at that. But then the damn thing got a plot and multiple chapters and whatnot, and now it's threatening to take over my hard drive. So, here you go.  
  
Also, the entire plot for this thing was thought up before Paley. Just a quick disclaimer that'll get important later.  
  
  
  
"A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity."   
  
~~ _Bible, Proverbs 17:17_  
  
**Chapter One**  
  
“So, were you gonna do her?”  
  
Sam looked up from the map to stare at his brother. “ _What?_ ”  
  
“Were you gonna do her?” Dean repeated impatiently. “Meg, I mean.”  
  
“Dean, we’re going 87 miles an hour in a 50 mile per hour zone, our faces are still fucked up, there’s a good chance that that demon thing is going to catch up with us and finish the job, and you’re wondering about the status of my dick?” If Dean hadn’t been his brother, Sam would have hit him. Sex was definitely _not_ the most important thing right now.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Yeah. Just ‘yeah’. No explanation, no defensiveness. Sam sighed; it was Dean all over. “No, I wasn’t going to do her, as you put it. I was tied up.”  
  
“So? Kinky.”  
  
Didn’t it hurt him when he grinned like that? It should have hurt him. Damn Dean and his ridiculously high pain threshold. “No, not kinky. Gross. I’m not going to have sex with some freaky witch while she’s got me tied up and is planning on murdering me.”  
  
“But you wanted to, right?”  
  
Did he want to? The brief image of Meg’s body flashed before his eyes—thin but with curves in all the right places. Sinuous, wild. Sexy. Any guy with eyes would have wanted her.  
  
“No. Not really.”  
  
“Hunh.” Dean’s face stayed impassive, the way it always did when they had these little question-and-answer sessions. Sam really didn’t get why they had them in the first place, but every time he asked, Dean had an annoying tendency to remind him that he was the big brother, dammit, and that Sam needed to fall into line.  
  
Sam really hated that.  
  
Dean said no more on the subject, which didn’t surprise Sam in the slightest. His brother was always abrupt after a close shave.  
  
After a few minutes of silence Sam said hesitantly, “I think I might’ve found our next stop.”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
“Well, there’s this little town in Mississippi, Lizard Lick—“  
  
“Shit.”  
  
“No, really. You can check the map if you don’t believe me— _not right now!_ ” Sam added hastily when Dean’s eyes darted down and the Impala started to swerve. “Anyway, five of its residents have died from bee stings over the past two months.”  
  
“So they’re allergic. Isn’t that a genetic thing? All these Southern towns are inbred.”  
  
Sam fought not to roll his eyes. “I got this lead from an environmentalist website. No one can figure out what’s going on. Apparently these bees are different from any bees they’ve ever seen before.”  
  
A pause. Then: “So, you’re thinking demon?”  
  
“Or something,” Sam agreed. “Either way, it won’t be like the thing Meg summoned, so I say we go for it.”  
  
“Right.” Dean’s foot became a bit heavier on the gas pedal. Sam’s hand instinctively tightened on his knee. “Lizard Lick it is, then.”  
  
|~|~|  
  
The good people of Lizard Lick, Mississippi were kind enough to point them in the direction of the abandoned house where, they said, all the deaths had occurred.   
  
Sam ducked under the police tape. “Well,” he said slowly, “I don’t think it’s a ghost.”  
  
“Poltergeist?”  
  
He shook his head. “I’d feel it, the same way I’d feel a malevolent spirit. There’s nothing here.”  
  
“Hang on.” Dean dug out the EMF reader.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Sam resisted the urge to smirk and say “I told you so”—then gave in and said it anyway. “See? Told you. You really ought to start listening to me about these things.”  
  
“Shut up, man. I just had to be sure. What if it was a ghost that wasn’t fucking with your head?” Dean snapped.  
  
“Then the EMF reader probably wouldn’t pick it up either,” Sam shot back.   
  
“Whatever.” He pocketed the ex-Walkman and started forward, running his fingers along the wall. “So, if it’s not a spirit—“  
  
“—then it’s a demon of some kind,” Sam finished, squinting at the floor. There was something strange about it…. “One that, apparently, stings people to death.”  
  
“Shit. I thought we’d left bees back in Oklahoma.”   
  
“Apparently we didn’t. Hey, Dean?”  
  
Dean paused in his inspection of the walls. “Yeah?”  
  
“Look at the floor.”  
  
Obediently, Dean looked down—and immediately launched himself towards the wall.  
  
“ _Fuck!_ ”  
  
And they fell through.  
  
|~|~|  
  
“Ah, Jesus.”  
  
If there was one thing worse than a demon that closely resembled a giant bug, it was a demon that apparently carried its kids the way bugs did: in the stomach that Dean had just split open.  
  
“I don’t think he’s listening,” Sam said, watching in horrified shock as thousands of yellow creatures, resembling nothing so much as a cross between a scorpion and a praying mantis, poured from the now-dead mother’s belly. “What are we supposed to do?”  
  
Dean raised a foot and grinned. “This is why I wear boots. We stomp ‘em.”  
  
It was disgusting work, made worse by the fact that Sam’s shoes didn’t put him high enough off the ground so that his pants hem stayed out of the muck. By the time all the little bug-things were killed, Sam’s pants were covered in an inch of bright yellow goo.  
  
And that wasn’t the only part of him that was dirty. The bugs had a tendency to explode when they killed them, the result being that they were both covered in fluorescent yellow goo up to their shoulders.   
  
They stomped the last bugs almost simultaneously, and like mirror images of each other, placed their hands on their knees and leaned over, panting.  
  
“Okay, that was disgusting.” Sam said, wrinkling his nose. Every time he lifted his foot there was a disgusting squelching sound.  
  
Dean snorted. “Yeah, sure. You’re just annoyed because your girly jeans are ruined.”  
  
“My jeans are girly?” He looked down at them, more for show than because he was actually worried.  
  
“As girly as the Miss America Pageant.”  
  
Sam grinned at the note of triumph in his brother’s voice. “You know these are your jeans, right?”  
  
But his glee was short-lived. “You’re wearing my _jeans?_ How sick are you, Sammy?”  
  
Might as well make the most out of this. Sam batted his eyelashes. “Well, see, I thought about wearing mine, but then I thought not. Because my jeans are _so_ last season.”  
  
By the time he finished, Dean was staring at him. “Okay. This, I can handle.” His hand indicated the yellow goo. “But your Queer Eye imitations? No fucking way.”  
  
He laughed and scooped a bit of the yellow goo off his jeans. “Can you handle demon guts in your— _aurrrgh!_ ”  
  
Fire shot through his finger, traveling up his arm—and not in the figurative sense. A line of flame was now licking at his skin.   
  
“Shit, Sam!” Dean was at his side in an instant, soothing the cut as best he could. Sam gritted his teeth, fighting to hold back a whimper. Dean had already called him a girl once today. There was no need to give him a reason to say it again.  
  
The fire was put out easily, and the next thing Sam knew he was being hauled to his feet. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here. That stuff’s toxic.”  
  
“You think?!”  
  
Oh, wonderful. Even his voice sounded burned. And as Dean hoisted him onto his shoulders—and how did he do that, anyway? Sam was way taller—he was just barely conscious enough to note that his face was now disturbingly close to Dean’s ass.  
  
Sam’s last thought before blacking out was, _The Sanctity of Marriage Society is gonna freak._   
  
|~|~|


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
  
|~|~|  
  
When he woke up it was the dead of night and he was lying in the motel bed that he vaguely remembered from the night before. Sam groaned and raised a hand to his throbbing head.  
  
“What the hell happened back there?”  
  
Dean’s voice was steady when he replied, “The demon guts burned you.”  
  
“No shit, Sherlock,” he said sarcastically. “I kind of wanted to know why.”  
  
The other man shrugged. “Simple enough—the guts were toxic,” he said. “By the time I dragged your sorry ass back here, the stuff was already burning through our clothes.” He held up a rumpled bit of fabric that Sam immediately recognized as his pants.  
  
Wait. If Dean was holding his pants, then what was he wearing now?  
  
Sam blushed bright red. He was lying in front of his brother wearing nothing but a pair of tighty whities.   
  
“And by the way, dude, we gotta talk about your choice of underwear.”  
  
His eyes narrowed. “Shut up. You’re the one who was apparently so desperate to touch me that you had to strip me while I was passed out.”  
  
Dean’s leer was disturbingly realistic. “Right, Sammy. I’m just dyin’ to get up close and personal with your dick.”  
  
“And the award for least funny joke goes to…”  
  
“Me.” Dean sat back and grinned, apparently not insulted in the least. “All joking aside, bro, we’ve got serious problems.”  
  
“Why? The demon’s dead, right? No more poisonous guts or lethal stings?”  
  
“Well, yeah. But the demon’s not the half of it.”  
  
When Sam just looked at Dean, clearly awaiting an explanation, Dean sighed and produced a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Check this out.”  
  
_Sam:  
  
“Consider the problem from the point of view of evil, evil being almost always pleasure’s true and major charm; considered thus, the crime must appear greater perpetrated upon a being of your identical sort than when inflicted upon one which is not, and this once established, the delight automatically doubles.”_  
  
“Wow.” He stared at the paper. Blood-red ink, funny diagram in the corner…and that quote. Where had he seen it before? “Do demons normally leave postcards?”  
  
“I had a succubus send me a Valentine once,” his brother offered.   
  
“You knew a succubus?” Sam stared at Dean incredulously. “You get around just a little too much.”   
  
“She was cute.” Dean gave him that grin again—the shit-eating grin that practically screamed of sweaty, naked limbs and gasps of pleasure.  
  
It was a grin that was really starting to get on Sam’s nerves.  
  
“Well, I think we can rule out succubus,” he snapped, annoyed.  
  
“Of course we can, Sammy. What are you, stupid?”  
  
“ _Dean!_ ”  
  
“Alright, alright.” For all his devotion to good and saving lives and all that bull, Dean sure as hell had issues focusing. “So, we’re getting cards with crazy-ass quotes from demon summoning types now?”  
  
“That’s what it looks like.” Sam frowned again at the card. _Consider the problem from the point of view of evil…_  
  
He froze. _Shit._  
  
_Marquis de Sade._  
  
“Sam?” His brother’s concerned voice pierced his reverie. “Dude, now is not the time to go all weak and helpless.”  
  
“Shut up. I’m never weak and helpless.”  
  
“Whatever, you pussy. What’s with the trance?”  
  
Sam really thought it spoke to his growth as an individual that he didn’t beat Dean into a bloody pulp.  
  
That, and he was too tired to move.  
  
“The quote—it’s from the Marquis de Sade.”  
  
“The necromancer?”  
  
“No shit. Sade did that kind of stuff?” And more importantly, Dean knew about it when Sam didn’t? Yeah, the apocalypse was definitely coming.  
  
“Yeah, Dad told me about it. The guy liked his dead bodies.” Dean grinned. “Apparently, he was a bit of a necro, too.”  
  
“Only you would think that’s funny.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. So, any idea who’s quoting Sade to us?”  
  
“I don’t know.” He crumpled the note in his fist; it was useless, anyway. “It’s too educated for a demon…”  
  
Dean picked up his train of thought effortlessly. “And chances are, it’s not your random psychopath like that Max kid. They’re pretty rare.”  
  
“Meg, maybe?”  
  
Dean cocked his head. “Think she survived the fall?”  
  
Sam shrugged—and winced when the movement pulled muscles that had been stationary much too long. “Anything’s possible,” he said, voice tight.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Instant concern. Sometimes, it was nice to have a brother you were all but surgically attached to.  
  
“Nothing much. Just a muscle…or twenty,” he admitted, gingerly rotating his shoulder as much as he could, scraping against the rough motel sheets.  
  
“Roll over.” When Sam didn’t move, a large, warm palm landed on his waist. “I said _roll over,_ dickwad.”  
  
Dean might’ve been shorter, but their was no doubt in either of their minds who was stronger. Sam flopped over immediately.  
  
“Jerk,” he accused—but all annoyance fled from his mind when he felt Dean’s hands knead his muscles. “Ooooh…”  
  
“You are such a goddamn pussy,” Dean said, but the pressure on Sam’s back increased.  
  
“Hey, you offered.” And now he was really glad that Dean had been so pushy, because all the knots that lying unconscious had caused were just melting away. He hadn’t felt this good since that time Jess had taken the massage oil and…  
  
He blushed. All over.  
  
“Come on, Sam. Blushing?” Dean’s hands dug deeper, accompanied by a snort. “Just because your girlfriend used to do that kinky massage thing doesn’t mean—“  
  
“Wait. How do you know about Jess?”  
  
The hands froze. “I, uh…”  
  
Ignoring his protesting muscles, Sam rolled over and stared his brother in the eye. “Dean.”  
  
Dean let out that little huff of air that meant he was pissed. His shoulder rolled back in a way that meant he knew he’d been caught, and the quirk of his eyebrow meant he didn’t want to talk about it.  
  
Too bad. They were going to have a talk anyway. “You _spied_ on me?”  
  
“Not much! It was just, once in awhile, if we were in the area, me and Dad would swing by…and he’d have me, you know, check. To make sure you were alright.”  
  
“And somehow checking on me means you have to turn into some kind of perverted—“  
  
“Hey, I’m not the one thinking about sex when my brother gives me a massage!”  
  
“ _I’m_ not the one offering the massage in the first place!”  
  
The glare currently boring into his skull was so intense that if he didn’t know better, Sam would have sworn that it was Dean who had the psychic powers. He felt his skin start to prickle, like that time the poltergeist had tried to invade his body.  
  
And then he burst out laughing.  
  
Breaking eye contact with Dean, he raised a hand to his head, half-covering his face in a vain attempt to stop the laughter that made his shoulders—his whole body—shake. His mirth doubled when he glanced at Dean and saw the expression on the other man’s face: a mixture of pure fury and complete confusion.  
  
“The fuck?”  
  
“We’re so stupid,” Sam gasped in explanation. “We’ve got this killer demon on our tail, and a million other problems to sort through, and we’re arguing about you pulling a Peeping Tom on me and Jessica.”  
  
“And that’s funny how?”  
  
Objectively, it was pretty impressive that Dean could still look that pissed. But given that it was him the anger was directed at, Sam suddenly found himself feeling a hell of a lot less amused. “I don’t know. It just…is.” He didn’t mention that Dean’s behavior reminded him of a jealous housewife. He liked his nose where it was.  
  
“Yeah, okay.” Dean gave him the ‘you’re strange beyond all comprehension’ look—or, in Dean-speak, ‘dude, you are _fucked_ up.’ “If you’re done passing out and waking up a complete girl, can we get a move on? Mississippi is messing with my head.”  
  
He didn’t even bother asking about that last statement. He knew that if he did, Dean would just ignore him.  
  
Denial. They were both really good at that.  
  
Sam sat up, still wincing—but this time, Dean didn’t offer to help him out.  
  
“Yeah, let’s go.”  
  
|~|~|  
 


End file.
